


Espresso Shots

by TheStraggletag



Series: Starbucks Series [9]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Behold the power of my most evil crackship, F/M, Little prompt fills, Wicked Pan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-03-24 01:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13800324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStraggletag/pseuds/TheStraggletag
Summary: Little prompt fills for the Starbucks Series.





	1. Family Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill: How was Moe and Gold's first meeting? How did he react to Belle getting married to Gold? Or pregnant?

When Belle had first told him about going out with Nicholas Gold he thought it wouldn’t last. His little girl had always been inclined towards older men but he was sure the fantasy of dating an older guy would grow stale when confronted with the reality of it. Even when he’d forced the two to meet he had still thought it was nothing but a passing fancy.

It wasn’t until their wedding kiss that it truly dawned in him that the smarmy old bastard was there to stay, and the only thing he had going for him was his decent taste in beer. Otherwise he was an ass, completely unworthy of his daughter. He seemed to know it, which did little to mollify him. But soon, even as he watched them dance together at the reception, he shook the bleak thoughts away. Divorce was a common thing nowadays, simple and hardly as shocking as it had been in his younger years. It was, surely, a matter of time till Gold was out of their lives for good.

Such thoughts made Belle’s pregnancy announcement feel like a death sentence, even though he tried bravely to conceal it from her. A baby was a permanent link between his little girl and Gold, it solidified the bond, made it unbreakable. Even if- or hopefully when- they divorced down the road a child would still tie them together. It was forever.

He tried to muster up enthusiasm, he really did. He forced himself to call Belle often to ask about her health, made himself ask for ultrasound pictures and show some sort of interest in the list of baby names that Belle fretted over. But it was impossible to feign genuine interest, much less happiness, and he cursed Gold as Belle’s happiness began to dim every time she spoke to him. She became reserved, hesitant, and whenever Gold was present he’d glare at him, as if this was all solely his fault. As if he was glad he dreaded the coming of his first grandchild.

So he had a much-needed conversation with Colette as he waited outside Belle’s hospital room to meet his grandson. He touched his wedding ring and silently promised Colette that he’d do better. That he’d march into the room and act as the world’s most enthusiastic grandfather. He’d sell the charade no matter what it cost. He’d do his late wife proud.

He took a deep breath and entered, glad when he saw Belle exhausted but otherwise glowing on the bed, the picture of health. Beside her was the bassinet and he made haste to it, as if he could no longer wait to meet his grandson. The first thing he thought when he saw him was how much he looked like Belle as a newborn. Same crazy tufts of hair, same delicate, rosy mouth. Large hands, akin to his own- good for gardening, if he taught the boy as soon as he was able to hold a trawl- and same too-rosy complexion. Curious, he reached out to the baby, one of his wee hands closing around his ring finger.

“Strong little thing, aren’t you? He’s got the French grip, good.” He smiled when the babe’s head moved, giving him a good look at his profile. “He’s got my nose too!”

Beside him he heard Belle laugh, but didn’t turn to look. He was too busy analysing the little one to see what else he could spot, thinking he could see glimpses of his strong forehead in the babe, and Colette’s cheeks. He marvelled at the idea that so much of her was present in a new generation, making her lingering presence on Earth that much stronger.

“He’s got Nick’s ears, I think, and his chin.”

Moe snorted, making cooing noises at the baby when he began to squirm, little hands reaching up to get a hold of his grandpa.

“Nonsense. That’s my father’s chin, and those are your aunt Muriel’s ears, surely you recognise them, Bluebell. He’s French through and through. Can I hold him?”

He barely waited till Belle agreed to scoop up his grandchild, smiling when he yawned widely. He was gonna do so much with him, teach him gardening, take him fishing at Lake Champlain, show him how to make the French barbecue sauce…

“What name did you settle for?”

“We decided on Baden. Bae for short.”

It was perfect.

“Baden French. It’s a good name.”

“Baden Gold, papa.”

“Whatever.”


	2. Cravings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill: something involving the Unicorn Frappucino in the Rumbelle Starbucks AU

It hadn’t surprised either of them when Belle developed a coffee-related craving during the first trimester of her pregnancy. Though regular coffee was out of the question decaf coffee in moderation was allowed, so she’d set out to figure out what sort of coffee she was craving. That proved, sadly, to be extremely tricky. She spent weeks going through every single items in the Starbucks menu- Ariel, the replacement she had trained just before she’d quit the franchise, insisted on preparing every single one of her orders, to make sure they were decaf- until she landed on the unlikeliest, and worst, of choices: the Unicorn Frappucino. Aside from being an eyesore the drink was almost obscenely sweet, with a generic fruity flavour she should not have found appealing at all. And yet nothing quite made her feel as deliciously satisfied as Venti Iced Unicorn Frappucino with decadent amounts of whipped cream sprinkled with pink and blue powder. The only saving grace of the drink seemed to be that it contained no caffeine, though it was probably 78% sugar, which wasn’t that much healthier.

Aside from that particular craving the other thing that had changed about her habits was her sex drive. Though she liked to think that she had a healthy, robust sex drive there was no comparison to what she was experiencing during pregnancy. Practically everything Nick did seemed sexy, from brushing his teeth to filing his nails. Quickies in the morning, before a nice little surprise, became simply part of their morning routine, and rare were the days were a shower didn’t involve at least masturbating. Through sheer force of will she remained professional and collected during her work day but as soon as she returned home she was pealing her clothes off and yanking Nick by the tie towards the bedroom. Staying late at work was no longer an option, unless Nick fancied being hunted down in his own bloody company by a horny pregnant woman.

The Unicorn Frappucino, as horrid as it was, helped. Though Nick found his pregnant wife incredibly desirable his prick had its limits, and it got to a point that, as much as he wished he could, it was downright impossible to rise to the occasion. It was a relief to be able to just pop by Starbucks and buy his lovely wife veritable liquid satisfaction, venti-sized happiness. With her new craving his electrolytes had time enough to replenish, his skin lost a lot of the sallow look that he had developed as a side-effect of dehydration and he no longer felt he was failing as a husband because he could not get it up at will.

It was perhaps why it felt like Belle’s diagnosis of gestational diabetes seemed to hit him harder than it did her. As far as pregnancy complications went it was not particularly dangerous or harrowing, though it did mean Belle had to change her diet and learn how to inject herself with insulin. She was brave about it, as it was to be expected, pointing out how in most cases gestational diabetes dissapeared as soon as the mother gave birth, enthusiastically raving about the blood sugar monitor patch she’d acquired, which would help her control her glucose levels constantly and would mean avoiding what she had read was the most painful part of the treatment for the disease: pricking her fingers to check her glucose levels.

Neither spoke of the fact that the Unicorn Frappucino was now out of the question. Belle tried to pretend unsweetened Greek yogurt was doing it for her and Nick pretended he believed her. Pretended he didn’t feel her squirming in bed at night, that he didn’t notice her getting antsy and restless week after week, that he didn’t catch her smelling her fruity body-wash longingly at different hours of the day. Pretended he didn’t see how utterly miserable she was until he could not pretend anymore. Until he decided his cock was gonna have to man-up and take responsibility.

The Unicorn Frapuccino might be out of the question but Viagra certainly wasn’t. He had fucked his way into a lot of problems, it was time he fucked his way out of one.


	3. The Wedding I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill: The Wedding! (Rumple sees her in her wedding gown and has a moment of I-can't-believe-this-wonderful-person-loves-me)

Everyone had loved the dress. Ruby had squealed, Emma had wolf-whistled and Mary Margaret had fucking cried. It was the dream dress she had always wanted, from her favourite wedding dress designer in the world, Monique Lhuillier. She remembered looking at bridal magazines with her mother as a child, both of them sighing at the intricate beading and delicate complexity of the designs. It made her feel like her mom would have loved the sleek silhouette, the bold bow on the side and the exquisite lace overlay.

And yet it didn’t feel like the right dress. Didn’t feel like her, even though it was everything she had imagined her wedding dress would be like. Delicate, feminine, traditional yet modern, with fine details and very much looking like a bridal gown. And it didn’t excite her at all, didn’t make her heart skip a bit when she tried it own, didn’t make her feel like a bride.

She had ended up going dress-shopping once more, alone, feeling inexplicably ashamed, as if she was betraying her mother and herself. She had gone to the usual places, visited the obvious designers and come up empty-handed every time. But New York City’s fashion district hadn’t dissapointed and in the end she’d found the dress. And it was not at all how it was supposed to look, wasn’t some amazing show-stopper, didn’t look like it had taken weeks of painstaking work to craft. It was a modest A-line strapless gown with a pointed V-neck bodice and a waterfall of organza flowing from the waist, with additional flounces to add volume. It’s one unique characteristic was the gold tone of the bodice, and the way it bled out onto the skirt, fading gradually into white. The skirt was, depending on how the light hit it, a bit see-through, letting the general shape of her legs peak from beneath the frothy organza. It was a mixture of modern and romantic, and painfully simple. 

And in it Belle felt like the most beautiful creature on Earth.

But once the wedding day arrive the old doubts crept back in. As much as she understood that she was not the same person she had been in her teens and early twenties and that simply because she had always pictured her wedding dress a certain way didn’t mean that she could not change her mind, there was a certain safety in rushing back to the old ways, in putting a dress she knew would be met with approval, would be expected. She felt exposed in this new dress, vulnerable, afraid.

“Belle.”

She turned around, eyes wide when she saw Nick by the door, a stupefied sort of look on his face.

“I thought you were getting ready at the office.”

Time had been scarce the last couple of weeks as the wedding loomed closer and closer. As they’d planned for a long honeymoon Nick had struggled to leave everything settled at Imp, Inc., determined to avoid as much contact with the office as possible during their trip around Europe. A last-minute emergency had made him decide to spend the night at the office, taking the suit, shoes and accessories he’d picked for the wedding with him so he could shower and change there and avoid being too pressed for time.

“I-I forgot my cuff-links. I thought… I thought you were getting ready at Ruby’s.”

That had been the plan, but she had chickened out at the last minute, unwilling to show anyone her new wedding dress until the actual ceremony, and had arranged for her make-up artist and hairdresser to meet her at the penthouse instead.

She opened her mouth hoping a better excuse for her change of plans would occur to her when she noticed the look on Nick’s face. He was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before, eyes wide and mouth half-open, looking strangely worshipful. And a bit like he was having a heart attack, which was unsettling.

“Nick, are you alright?”

He whimpered, then seemed taken aback by the sound, shaking his head and making a visible attempt to collect himself. 

“We aren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding.”

He attempted to chuckle but it came out as a snuffle. Belle shrugged, using both hands to fan out the skirt of the dress.

“Well, we were never the traditional sort anyway. What… what do you think?”

She smiled, but it was a weak, tremulous effort. Nick, usually so attuned to her moods, didn’t seem to notice it, though.

“I think… I will never be able to deserve you. I think that the fact that you love me is nothing short of a miracle.”

Nick was not prone to wax poetic. He enjoyed wordplay when it came to deals and exercising power but he was not given to such proclivities when it came to his personal life. What she would have considered sweet, artful flattery coming from any other man she saw as the blunt, raw truth when it came from Nick. And suddenly all her doubts felt silly. Whatever her past self had wanted didn’t matter. Nick loved her as she was now, how could she not do the same?

She plucked the cuff-links from the top of his dresser, softly kissing his cheek as she placed them on his hands. There was still time to call the girls and have them get ready with her, an experience she was suddenly looking forward to again.

“Thank you.”

“What for, sweetheart?”

“Being you. Now go, I remember you arranged to get a drink with Mal before the ceremony. I believe you were looking forward to, and I quote “burn the contract and dance on the ashes”.”

“Ah, yes. There’s no end of enjoyment to be had today. Better grab that Zippo lighter she gave me after I decided to quit smoking.”


	4. The Wedding II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill: what ever happened to Gold's father Malcolm? Did he crash the wedding? Does he know about his grandson? Is he even still alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve wanted to introduce this crackship to the world for YEARS. This is the ONE thing I knew for sure happened at the Starbucks Wedding and it feels SO GOOD to finally share it with you.

Most people thought Malcolm Gold wasn’t a wedding type of guy. Thought that he wasn’t the kind to dress up in a stuffy suit, sit down at a table full of strangers and make small talk as the spotlight was placed on some twits who decided to make the world’s biggest mistake and spend a fortune to have others witness their stupidity. But Malcolm loved weddings, for a number of solid reasons. Top among them was the free booze, usually of a decent quality. There was also the free food, and the endless amount of inebriated and distracted people with nice baubles he could easily lift and pawn at a later date.

And then there was the single birds. Being reminded that their biological clocks were ticking, that they were single and little by little their friends and acquaintances were falling in love and getting married. Desperate things, trying hard to pretend they were fine being by themselves, that they didn’t need a man to be happy. Poor wee things, so easy to charm. A few drinks, a halfway-decent attempt at looking like they were interested in what they had to say, and it was a guaranteed lay.

Nicky hadn’t been dumb enough not to invite him to the wedding, knowing he could easily sneak in, but was also not stupid enough to sit him anywhere near people of importance. It suited him fine. He wasn’t there to be part of the wedding, he was there to drink, eat and find some pretty young thing to fuck in the coat room.

To his displeasure very few of the women at the party seemed susceptible to his charms. Most seemed the sort of driven, corporate-types who derived ridiculous amounts of self-esteem from their careers, which put a damper on his usual approach. But just as he was about to give up and resign himself to a celibate night he spotted a gorgeous redhead by the bar. She was wearing a clinging emerald dress with a plunging neckline that bared more of her chest than it covered. Her hair was teased into a wild mane and she was wearing a heavy smoky eye and fire-engine-red lips. The woman reeked of desperation and Malcolm Gold was not about to pass up a sure thing. He went to the other side of the bar, ordered a Midori Sour- girly and green, which this woman seemed to be fond of, and sauntered over to where she was, making sure he had one of his lazy smiles on as he deposited the drink in front of her.

“A pretty green thing for a pretty thing in green.”

Whereas most of the women in the room would’ve slapped him for such a line- a tall blonde glamazon had stabbed him in the foot with her stiletto heel when he’d tried something similar on her, and God, had it hurt- the redhead startled but laughed, her lips forming a wide, flattered smile that was a hairsbreadth shy of manic. She introduced herself as Zelena Greene and invited him eagerly to sit beside her, griping about having been ditched by her date and knowing no one in the room. He fell into conversation with her effortlessly, mostly because the chit seemed eager to talk, mostly about what a horrible wedding it was. He listened and nodded as she tool pot shots at everything possible, from the decorations and the catering to the guests and, particularly, the bride’s dress. Somehow she managed to rant about it for a solid half hour, at which point Malcolm began to suspect something. Zelena’s unsubtle glances towards the bride and groom table, where Nicky was eating with Blue Eyes, both of them sharing a plate as they tried out different samples from the dessert table, all but confirmed it: the bird was crazy about lame old Nicky.

And by crazy, he meant _crazy_.

How positively marvellous.

He wasted no time in introducing himself fully- usually he gave his first name, to keep things nice and casual- and was rewarded by Zelena leaning closer, her eyes lighting up and her interest in him clearly rising. He told her all about how he’d made Nicky the man he was, though the boy had sadly turned out to be but a pale imitation of the original thing. He had no trouble pushing his appreciation for Blue Eye’s gorgeous attributes aside and mock-despairing of the fact his son was marrying a mousy, insipid girl, clearly because he was unable to handle a real woman. From the on it was all about gently reeling in his catch, keeping the bird drinking and getting used to bolder and bolder touches, making it as if she was in control. When he finally was able to lean close to her ear and whisper a suggestion about “getting some air” she jumped at the chance, letting herself be lead to one of the secluded coat rooms he’d spied upon entering.

It was a matter of minutes till he was pounding into her- a bit sloppily, given his inebriated state- uncaring as her head hit the wall with each thrust. She wasn’t all that pleasant to the touch, too many hard edges and sharp jewellery, and the perfumed she’d likely bathed in was giving him a migraine, but her cunt was warm and wet and did the trick. Even so he was relieved as he came fast, his hard work finally paying off. The bird seemed either too drunk or too desperate to complain about her own lack of orgasm, clinging to him in a rather obsessive way, her nails digging painfully into his shoulders.

“I’m so glad I finally came across the right Gold. What I thought I felt for Nick seems silly now that I have the real thing.”

There was something about the way she was crowding him and the look in her eyes that was giving him a very bad feeling.

“Yes, well, I’m flattered, lass. This was wonderful, perhaps we can do it again some other time.”

Malcolm tried to act calm and collected as he sorted himself out, eager to be out of the room all of a sudden. Zelena laughed, a deranged sort of cackle that threatened to drench him in cold sweat.

“Oh, darling, now that I have had a taste of you I’m never letting you go.”

In his haste to leave the room- very glad Zelena’s knickers were still around her ankles, making it hard for her to follow even if she wished to- he tripped and fell in the hall, fear and alcohol making him clumsy.

“I see the years haven’t changed you a bit, Malcolm.” The woman who spoke was statuesque, clad in a deep violet gown that managed to be both sexy and appropriate for a woman of a certain age, as she seemed to be. There was something vaguely familiar in her voice, in the way she held herself. It took him an embarrassing amount of time to connect the dots. “Such a pity.”

Fiona Black gingerly side-stepped him, strolling down the corridor like a queen on her way to court.

 _Fuck_.


	5. Family Matters II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill: In Starbucks has Fiona and Moe ever met? And what was their reaction towards each other?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick intro about Fiona: Fiona was a teenager when she fell in love with Malcolm Gold and got pregnant. She’s had a hard life and though she loved her baby she feels resentment too, because she’s sworn to be rich and powerful, never at the mercy of anyone again, and a baby would get in the way. In the end she gets an opportunity to travel to London and leaves the baby with Malcolm, promising herself that once she’s accomplished enough she’ll look for him. But she never does, gets too caught up in making something of herself, in her ambition.
> 
> But as the years pass Fiona beings to feel empty. She’s gotten rich and powerful, a fixture of London high society, but she feels that she’s missing something. Starts thinking about her baby, which she never really forgot, begins to see she might have prioritised the wrong thing, blinded as she was by hate and ambition. Eventually she comes across Nick’s picture in the papers and grows suspicious this might be her son (who had still been nameless when she’d bailed). When she confirms it she decides to approach Gold, which she finds impossible until she appeals to Belle, who is the one who convinces Nick to give his mother a shot.

Even if it had been months since mother and son had begun a tentative relationship- one supported mostly through Belle’s efforts, since Nick and his mother were likely the most emotionally-stunted people in Manhattan, if not the entire state of New York, it was still very much a work in progress. To Fiona’s credit she had made good of her promise to establish a residence in the Upper East side, instead of going back to London where she lived, and at the same time had given Nick all the space in the world, willing to be open to whatever way he wanted to approach their relationship. Nicholas was also trying, and though initially that had involved a lot of Scotch and smashed pottery things seemed to have evened out.

It was impossible, then, to forestall a full family meeting. Unlike Malcolm, who was not a welcome part of their lives but rather an unshakeable nuisance they were forced to deal with, Fiona was someone who they were actively working on including, which meant it was rather inevitable for her and Moe French to meet, and better it happen under controlled conditions.

Nick was convinced it was a disaster in the making, that Moe would used perhaps a veiled version of the passive-aggressiveness that he used on him. He’d scoffed when Belle had pointed out how sweet it was of him to worry for his mother, dismissing the notion completely, even though a tiny part of him admitted that Belle’s insight was not completely ridiculous.

It turned out his worry, as small as it had been, had been unnecessary.

“How fascinating, Miss Black.”

“Oh, Mr French, I must insist you call me Fiona. And I hope it won’t be too forward of me to call you Maurice. Such a lovely name.”

Moe French smiled and blushed like a fucking schoolboy, ducking his head in a grotesque show of boyish bashfulness.

This was hell.

As his mother smiled and pretended to be fascinated by the secret to trout fishing-it was all in the lure, apparently- Nick glanced at Belle, pleased to see her looking as vaguely nauseated as he felt.


	6. Mal babysits Bae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill: Would Mal be a good babysitter? (Starbucks Verse)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this verse Gold and Belle eventually have three kids: Baden, the oldest, Gideon and Ava. I've written a story or two about them finding out about the pregnancy but for some reason I never posted them here. I will remedy that ASAP! In the mean time enjoy this.
> 
> For visual aids regarding Belle's dress and her clutch you can see both here: http://thestraggletag.tumblr.com/post/171295535041/would-mal-be-a-good-babysitter-starbucks-verse

“It’s thirty millilitres of water for each scoop of the baby formula.”

“God bless the metric system.”

“Be serious, Mal. And he can get colicky, though now that we have switched to the lactose-free formula he’s been doing much better.”

“I spied a full bottle of Grey Goose on the way in so we’re going to be just fine.”

“Did you just suggest giving my five-month old vodka?!”

“Of course not, silly. The vodka’s for me. Three glasses and the tot can scream as much as he wants, it won’t bother me.”

“Belle!”

He turned around, staring at the closed bathroom door pleadingly. Mallory snickered, brushing past him to take control of the living-room. It wasn’t the first time she stay to baby-sit, but he had yet to get used to it. It was also the first time she stayed overnight, which he was definitely not okay with.

“Stop bickering you two.”

“Do we really need to stay over? The Hamptons are not that far away, and I can still make arrangements with Dove. He’s been wanting the extra hours, and we could sleep on the way home. I know you went through a lot of pains to book the Cottage King Suite but I promise you we can sleep there some other time. We’ll plan a weekend getaway when Bae’s a bit older and we can get Mrs Potts to stay and watch-”

The moment his wife stepped out of the bathroom he forgot the entirety of the English language. He had known little about what Belle was planning to wear to the function- he’d only spied the telltale Medusa head of the Versace House on the garment bag she’d sequestered quickly on her side of the walk-in closet they shared. Aside from that, and the fact that Belle had warned him the dress was a bit… out there, he’d known nothing. And thank God, because how would’ve been able to function all week if he’d known? It was… He had no words for it, not really. It was tight and seemingly held together by bits of metal that gave him tantalising glimpses of his wife’s skin. It was a masterpiece, and, coupled with Belle’s skilfully-tousled hair and her dark berry lips, it was the perfect recipe for a fucking heart attack.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, couldn’t hear you very well from the other side of the bathroom door. What were you saying about staying over at the Topping Rose?”

She grabbed her Bottega Venetta clutch, doing a quick check of its contents before snapping it shut, giving him enough time to mentally slap himself.

“I-I was saying that I’m looking forward to it. Heard wonderful things about- about the gardens.”

From somewhere behind him Mal snorted, muttering something about men and the ease with which they could be manipulated. He mentally agreed with her, hastening to the coat closet to retrieve Belle’s coat. The sooner they arrived at the function the sooner it’d be socially-acceptable for them to retire to their hotel room.


	7. Rumple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt Fill: we saw in your one fic a remix where Gold and Belle ended up having a kitten. Do they ever end up getting a pet of any kind, perhaps for their child once he's born?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a visual aid regarding what Rumple looks like go here: http://thestraggletag.tumblr.com/post/171290441501/for-the-starbucks-verse-if-youre-not-too

When Bae began to talk about “his friend Rumple”, who he met whenever the housekeeper took him to the park they both assumed it was an imaginary sort of companion. Certainly Mrs Potts knew of no such boy at the park or anywhere else, and Bae was of an age where it was common to have such flights of fancy. His favourite book was Rumplestiltskin, which explained a lot about where this “Rumple” had come from.

Turned out Rumple existed. And Bae had taken it upon himself to sneak him into the penthouse, somehow, at some point when it had begun to snow, only to panic and confess everything to his parents as he bawled his eyes out, saying that “Rumple wasn’t waking up”. When both adults rushed to the child’s walk-in closet, where he’d managed to stash his friend, they discovered another important fact about Rumple: he was a street dog. A large, skinny, mangy thing with scraggly, matted fur.

An emergency trip to the vet later they also discovered Rumple had big, kind eyes and a very soft bark, and was likely a Scottish Deerhound mix. Bae and him were also pretty much inseparable. It took one look at the way the boy held on to the long fur of the dog, the gentle care with which he patted him, to convince Nick that there was little chance of getting rid of the thing. One look at his wife’s glassy eyes and her hopeful smile sealed the deal and the only thing he could do is make sure it was understood that he was tolerating the dog for the sake of the emotional well-being of his son.

Life with a dog was at first pretty much like before. Rumple was large but surprisingly graceful, which meant he didn’t tend to knock things down. He also slept a surprising amount of time, a fact Bae was surprisingly okay with, perhaps because the dog didn’t mind it when Bae curled up against him and played with his toy cars or coloured. Belle got used to taking him out when she went out jogging with Ruby and her two rescue Kugshas. 

When the little changes appeared, he couldn’t say he very much minded them. It wasn’t that much of a hassle to feed Rumple in the mornings, when he woke up before everyone else. And it was certainly not a hassle to absentmindedly pet the creature when he was reading the paper, both of them enjoying the peace and quiet of the early hours. The dog was pleasantly lazy and enjoyed quiet companionship. And he had the world’s most expressive brown eyes, which he could not remain immune too. Even before the lovable scamp bit Malcolm in the ass he was already attached to him.


	8. Belle meets Mary Margaret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Can we see Mary Margaret and Belle's first meeting?

Mary Margaret knew most people at Imp, Inc. considered her a saint… or someone very, very desperate for a job. Part of it was Mr Gold’s horrible reputation- which was not completely undeserved, but at the same time was also completely exaggerated- and the other was that most people saw her running around from one place to the other, urgently searching for a document, a report or a balance sheet, a vaguely-panicky look on her face.

The reality of being Mr Gold’s personal assistant was, she thought, a bit of a letdown. She was certainly kept on her toes and Mr Gold’s irascible, mercurial temper got a lot of getting used to, but it wasn’t that bad. And even when it was, she was strong enough and professional enough to deal with things. She knew she looked mousy and fragile and the sort of woman to burst into tears when someone dared to raise their voice in her general direction, but that was far from the truth. Mary Margaret had learned to develop nerves of steel when necessary and was the sort of person who could easily shake everything off as soon as she stepped out of the office.

Unlike other frazzled PAs she knew she did not usually have to deal with her boss calling her after hours or during weekends, unless it was an urgent matter. She was also paid handsomely and treated with respect. It made sense, being that she was the keeper of Mr Gold’s schedule, the person everyone had to go through to meet with the most powerful businessman in New York. At the beginning, specially when people thought she wouldn’t last long in the job, a lot of businessmen had tried to intimidate her or otherwise dismiss her, but they’d quickly understood that there was no bypassing her. Mr Gold considered it her job to set up appointments and whoever didn’t follow protocol was not getting to him unless Mr Gold himself arranged for a meeting- which he seldom did, and always made sure to add it to her calendar so she’d be in the know.

In contrast to high-power CEOs and condescending CFOs Mary Margaret held a soft spot for junior execs, interns, PAs and messengers, most of which were either terrified of meeting with her boss or completely oblivious to how careful they needed to be. It was the reason why, when the young woman wondered out of the elevator, looking around in interest, she did not call for security or otherwise prepared herself for a confrontation.

“Hello, can I help you?”

The woman smiled, blue eyes almost glowing as the afternoon light hit them just right. She was dressed in stylish but affordable clothes, with a few high-end details she knew were likely purchased on Century 21 or another outlet mall. Mary Margaret had done the same when she’d started at Imp, Inc.

“I’m here to see Mr Gold, if he’s not very busy.”

She checked the calendar, though she knew for a fact that her boss had nothing scheduled for the rest of the day.

“I’m sorry, but you don’t seem to have an appointment. How did you get in?”

It was unusual for security to let anyone without a reason to be there.

“Oh, I needed to pick up some documents down at legal for my boss. I’m Mallory Ficent’s newest PA.” She wiggled the document-carried she was carrying and extended to other hand. “I’m so sorry, by the way, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Belle French.”

A strange sense of camaraderie overtook her as she shook the offered hand. Mallory Ficent was not called the Dragon Lady for nothing. She had seen a lot of her PAs come and go over the years, lasting but the blink of an eye. This one, though, looked tough, like she could go the distance.

“Mary Margaret Blanchard, a pleasure. I’m sorry, though, but I cannot allow you to see Mr Gold. He’s very particular about things like that. I can set up an appointment, though, if you tell me what it’s about. Mr Gold would have to approve it, though.”

Belle bit her lip, body language looking uncertain, as if she didn’t know how to proceed.

“I’m sorry about being pushy but I’m pretty sure Mr Gold would like to see me. Could you just… tell him I’m here?”

Usually such a statement would have made Mary Margaret a lot less friendly and more insistent, but there was none of the usual condescension in the way the other PA said it. She was new, it was clear she had no idea she was making a mistake, and she’d hate for her to get into trouble with Miss Ficent over it.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that’s im-”

“Mary Margaret, did the slow fucks at Accounting get around to updating the numbers on the-”

Her boss stormed out of his office, clearly fed up with everyone employed in the Accounting Department, which she personally agreed with. Getting them to give her numbers on pretty much anything took years, which usually meant by the time she got them they were no longer useful. She stood up quickly, coming to shield Belle so as to protect her from most of her boss’s rage. But he wasn’t screaming anymore, rather staring wide-eyed at the newcomer.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

Was her boss blushing?

“What are you doing here?”

Usually when Mr Gold uttered that phrase it was with a much harsher tone and at least three “fucks” sprinkled somewhere. But now he was speaking softly, with what looked like boyish charm. It was hands down the most terrifying thing she’d ever seen.

“Had to pick up a couple of documents for Mal, and since I had a little bit of time I thought I’d pop by and say hi, see where you work and all. Are you too busy? Should I leave?”

“No, no, no.” The eagerness with which her boss denied he was busy, which was a complete and utter lie, startled her. Belle strolled over to where he was, smiling widely- someone happy at seeing Mr Gold? Now she’d seen everything- and grabbed him by the back of his neck, planting a solid kiss on his lips that had him melting.

Mary Margaret was fascinated.

“Mal doesn’t expect me back, but I do need to drop the documents off at the office. I thought maybe I could keep you company until you finished work and then we could stop by the office for a second and then go out to eat. I’ve been wanting to try Peruvian cuisine.”

Mr Gold was smiling and looking vulnerable and Mary Margaret was trying hard to keep from slapping herself to see if she was dreaming.

“That sounds amazing. Wouldn’t mind leaving the office a bit early.

Wouldn’t mind? Since when?

Her boss’s bald-faced lies were rewarded by a kiss on the cheek, which made him duck his head. Mary Margaret clung to the last shreds of her sanity.

“It was great to meet you by the way, Mary Margaret. Nick has told me a lot about you, feels like I know you already.”

The PA nodded, deciding that doing the thing where her lips moved and words came out was a bad idea at the moment. Instead she tried to pretend not to find it completely Kafkaesque to see her boss pull a beautiful young woman into his office, smiling and looking decades younger. To settle her nerves she opened her mini-fridge and took out her emergency chocolate pudding cup, ripping it open and digging into it with gusto, hoping the sugar would help with the shock.


	9. First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Belle spend their first time together. Set right after Addiction.

He’d been hesitant to suggest they go back to his place, a part of him thinking he’d already fucked things up by practically tackling Belle on a coffee shop, having sex with her on top of a faux-leather sofa like he didn’t know the meaning of self-control. Belle might want space to figure things out, come to grips with things and even reconsider what she wanted to happen between them from that point on.

In the end all his inner struggle had been for nought. After Belle finished dressing and helped him don all his layers back on, she sweetly kissed him on the nose, told him to wait for her to finish closing up and then they’d be good to go home. The mention of home couldn’t clearly mean her apartment, with two rather annoying roommates and no privacy, but rather his own. And being the savvy businessman that he was Nick didn’t allow himself to question his luck, briskly hailing a cab and barking out his address as Belle curled up beside him, seeking his warmth.

He pointedly ignored the rather surprised looked on the doorman when he strolled in with beautiful little Belle under his arm, hands gripping his warm coat. When they reached the penthouse he grew self-conscious, trying to look at his home from her yes… Would she find it pompous? Rather stiff? Old, with its smattering of antiques or cold because of his minimalist, industrial furniture?

But Belle, bless her, proceeded to coo over this and that, tracing the lacquered designs on an antique Chinese cabinet, depicting storks in flight, then moving to scrutinise the contents of the nearest bookcase, pausing only to slip her shoes off, humming in pleasure when she discovered the floor was heated. She seemed so utterly comfortable, so at home, that he felt himself brave enough to playfully wrap his arms around her and nibble at her neck, making a silly little joke about her “wanting him only to get to his book collection”. It was a risky move, there was a distinct possibility Belle would take offence and he knew there difference in income and situation could be a deal breaker if they didn’t handle it correctly, but she didn’t. Instead she sighed, turned around and told him playfully that he had “found her out” before practically pouncing on him.

They made it to an actual bed for the second go at it, and though he thought it creepy Nick spent almost an hour after Belle fell asleep watching how pale her skin looked against the dark blue of his sheets. He was afraid of the coming light, when things would stop being adventurous and romantic, when their wild night would end and awkwardness would settle between them, which was why he fought to stay awake as much as possible, though at some point around four in the morning he too fell asleep.

He woke up to the strong, tantalising smell of coffee in the air- and there was no way he’d ever not associate such smell with Belle, specially given the events of the past night. He found Belle wearing his shirt from last night and her knickers, clearly enjoying the heating capabilities of his home as she prepared French toast and listened softly to the radio.

“Hi there, sleepyhead. Set the table and pour us both a cup, won’t you?”

He was confused for a moment, waiting for the awkwardness and the stiffness to set in, but it never happened. Things didn’t feel like last night. There was a sedate air of domesticity about it all, and it was as exhilarating and as heady as the passion and tension of the night before. Forcing himself to stop overthinking things and just let it all be for once he limped over to the cabinet, retrieving plates and silverware for them both, pausing on his way to his French press to kiss Belle French good morning for the first time.


End file.
